


Stop

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Safeword Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock interrupts Jim with an important announcement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s sheer bliss when Jim’s inside; it always is. But it’s been bliss the whole time. Kissing Spock, touching Spock, holding Spock in his arms and tumbling closer to their bed, tugging at clothes and blue and gold and falling into silky white sheets. It’s all part of a sublime fantasy that’s somehow worked its way into Jim’s everyday life, bursting into colour as soon as their shifts end. They’ve finished their work and eaten their food and Jim doesn’t want to ever sleep; he wants to drape over Spock and be _in_ Spock from now until forever.

Spock is a gracious host. Warm hands slide up to met him, wrap around him, and he’s drawn closer under the cocoon of their blankets, kissed and loved and welcomed inside. He rocks into Spock’s body, buries Spock deep in the mattress, and he kisses Spock’s neck and jaw and lips and murmurs, “Love you so much, babe.” But Spock should know that. Jim opens his mind anyway, pouring through their bond and letting his _t’hy’la_ know, _love you, love you desperately..._

He can feel Spock’s return. They’re bonded, now. Heading back from the ceremony, from Vulcan, a whole galaxy-class starship diverted for just the two of little old them, captain and first officer. The connection is still new, though they’ve melded more times than Jim can count, but it _burns_ and puts a need in him to be as close to one as possible. Vulcans, Spock says, need only consummate once every seven years. But Spock is half human, and he seems to have little problem sharing their bodies every night, taking Jim yesterday and giving himself to Jim today. Jim’s worked into a quick, brutal rhythm, slamming with full force to take everything he can. 

He licks at Spock’s tipped ear, and he purrs into it, “You’re so beautiful.”

And Spock, wonderful, perfect Spock, kisses Jim’s cheek and whispers, “Tellarite.”

Jim freezes instantly.

His hips go rigidly still, though his cock’s still twitching with need, and he lifts up on one elbow, the blankets sliding down his sweaty back. “What?”

“Tellarite,” Spock repeats, perfectly clearly. His face is utterly neutral: a Vulcan mask that would make even Sarek proud. _Not_ the sort of green-tinted haze sex often puts him in. When Jim simply gapes, Spock lifts a questioning eyebrow.

Surging back to life, Jim pulls himself out of Spock. The wet squelching noise that follows is sicker out of context. Jim sits back between Spock’s legs, cock beginning to flag in his lap, and his usual leadership confidence and fire flitter right out the window. His shoulders slump when he asks, “What did I do?” Somehow, he thought if he ever heard that word in here, Spock would be the one to be hurt. But Spock looks utterly fine, and Jim’s heart is sinking, having so much farther to fall from how high it was. Suddenly his sweat-slicked skin is clammy instead of hot, and he rearranges the blankets to cover Spock’s naked body.

Spock lounges in the pillows like nothing’s changed. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jim doesn’t understand how it could be nothing. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. You can tell me. I won’t do it again.” Spock merely shakes his head, and Jim, trying to squash a sudden flare of annoyance, tries, “Wait, were you actually trying to talk to me about Tellarites mid-sex? Because I’m all for discussing politics with you, but in case you forgot, that’s our safe word—”

“Yes, and I did not use it because you did anything wrong.” Spock lifts up on his elbows, then reaches for Jim’s knee, stroking it soothingly. Jim’s just confused. Apparently, Spock doesn’t understand the concept of a safe word. “After a lengthy discussion with Dr. McCoy over the consent issues in common Rinelian mating rituals, I merely wished to test certain aspects of the human male psyche.”

“By... using our safe word in the middle of totally fine sex,” Jim clarifies dryly. Then, to paraphrase: “You were testing me.”

“I was testing human males with you as a prime specimen.”

“Do you have other specimen?”

Spock’s face reverts into the un-amused scolding Jim earns from time to time. “You are well aware that you are my only mate.” After a short pause, wherein Jim’s too dully stunned to do anything, Spock adds, “I do apologize for any distress I may have caused you.”

And that just makes Jim feel like an asshole, so he shrugs his shoulders and mutters, “You shouldn’t apologize for using your safe word. It’s yours to use.” A bit more exasperated, he adds, “Even if everything’s fine.” And that’s difficult to say, because he would very much like to keep going any time he’s done nothing wrong, but he knows that’s not the point of consent, and he certainly isn’t going to argue that his preferences towards his t’hy’la’s body outweigh Spock’s own willingness.

So he falls to the mattress with a heavy thump, next to Spock’s side, at least content that he didn’t hurt Spock in any way. He mentions belatedly, “Yay, I passed.” And then he feels stupid. His face turns pink, because that should be a given, and hardly something he earns brownie points for. He considers apologizing and saying as much, but he stops himself when he thinks of how much effort it’ll take to explain the illogical phrase of ‘brownie points.’

Under the dim half-lights, in the warm silence of the captain’s quarters, Jim dazedly waits for Spock’s response. A part of him wonders if he should just show preemptive respect for Spock’s boundaries and roll over and sleep, but he’s not tired. ...And now that he knows he hasn’t hurt his lover, his cock’s resuming half-mast status, and he’s fully prepared to slip off to the bathroom and deal with his urges on his own like a grown man.

A torturous five minutes later, Spock asks, “Are you not going to continue?”

Head jerking sideways, Jim asks, “Can I?”

“As you appear aroused and I am very much so, inserting your penis into my body is the only logical course of action.” Jim has to stifle his snort—no one’s worse at dirty talk than his first officer. 

But he loves that first officer anyway, so he happily rolls back over, noting the muffled, rather non-Vulcan grin that awaits him. Jim pours his adoration back through their bond before he even reaches between Spock’s legs, and all he receives back is love.


End file.
